


She Will Come Four Times

by WinterTheWriter



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, F/M, Filth, Hurt/Comfort, PWP, Rough Sex, Smut, Unhealthy Relationships, mild D/s themes, not quite hate sex, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22532800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterTheWriter/pseuds/WinterTheWriter
Summary: All the Doctor wanted was to finish her shower in peace.The Master has other plans.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 247





	She Will Come Four Times

**Author's Note:**

> i thought of this while masturbating and none of you can judge me for that

It hits her while she’s in the shower, head back against the cool tile in contrast to the hot spray, eyes closed as thoughts of her burning home circle through her head. 

“Contact.”

That voice. Still so gruff and mad, even in her head. She’s going to ignore it. Swallowing thickly, the Doctor opens her eyes and reaches for her shampoo. Her hand is shaking. Either from fear or rage or bitter, bitter grief she cannot tell, but she cannot stop it either. 

“/Contact/.” It’s hissed so loudly in her mind that she fumbles with the bottle and drops it onto her toe, making her curse and jolt back under the water. He’s laughing at her when she finally lets him in, if nothing else than to yell at him. 

“Enjoying your shower, my love?” he purrs, so vivid that the Doctor almost looks for him. She takes a deep breath in, exhales it slowly. 

“I /was/, before you barged in,” she responds bitterly. Her shower’s done - she had no reason to reach for the shampoo at all - but he doesn't need to know that. 

“Really? Seemed rather…morose for much enjoyment.” 

“What do you /want/?” 

“Oh, my Doctor. What I’ve always wanted.” Something shudders through her and she tells herself it’s disgust the same way she tells herself she’ll reject him. 

The Citadel of Gallifrey burns in her memories. She swallows thickly, closes her eyes again.

“Where are you?” the Doctor asks softly. The Master inhales sharply like he’s surprised by how easy this was. That makes two of them. 

“Outside. Let me in.” 

And gods help her, she does. 

~

The Doctor’s robe is tight around her when she opens the TARDIS door. The Master is standing there, because of course he is, all smug smiles and that ridiculous purple suit of his that speeds up her hearts. Those hearts of hers have betrayed her almost more than he has. His eyes rove over her lewdly and she subconsciously clutches the material tighter around her chest, but he just huffs out an amused sound and pushes inside. 

“So where are your little pets, hmm?” He asks it with such disgust and the Doctor glares murderously at him, rage making her jaw click. 

“My /friends/ are taking a well-deserved holiday, thanks.” 

“What luck for me.” The second she closes the door he’s closing in on her, hands grabbing her hips as he pushes her up against one of the pillars. She huffs at the treatment, raises her chin at him, but he only chuckles darkly and presses close. “You’re playing hard to get like you didn’t invite me in, Doctor. Like I don’t know how badly you need this.” As he speaks, the Master leans down, trails his nose along the edge of the Doctor’s jaw. She inhales sharply and fists her hands at her sides. 

“I don’t /need/ this,” she whispers harshly like it’s true. Heat’s already pooling between her legs, hearts hammering faster as his hot breath ghosts over her skin. It’s been so long since she’s had the touch of her own kind, of /him/, and it is certainly a first in this body regardless. “I’m using you. Contact, that’s all this is.” 

“Oh, I’m sure,” he reassures her mockingly. One of his hands comes up to push under the flap of her robe, cupping her bare breast and thumbing over the peaked nipple until she’s arching into his hand with a hiss. The Master grinds his hips into hers at the sound and he’s already hard, just from this. Just from her. She grits her teeth to fight a moan as he presses slow, wet kisses down the side of her neck, biting down gently on where neck joins shoulder. “I’m sure you’re not as desperate as you smell right now,” he murmurs into her skin, his other hand going between her legs to brush over wet folds.

The Doctor’s head thunks as she throws it back against the pillar. Dammit all, she shouldn’t be doing this. She /really/ shouldn’t be doing this. Her hands shake with rage and lust as they push at the Master’s blazer, tug through the buttons of the shirt underneath. He chuckles at her obvious eagerness and pulls his hands back from her to help, slamming their mouths together in a rough, hungry kiss that hurts their teeth and sets their blood on fire. She licks into his mouth to try and gain /some/ semblance of control, tasting that familiar buzz of artron energy on his tongue. 

“Doctor,” the Master whispers, into mouth and mind once he’s bare. “I’m going to utterly destroy you.” Her knees tremble slightly but she simply rakes her fingers through his hair, scratch at his scalp as she bites his jaw, down his neck. 

“I dare you.” 

With that dangerous smile of his, he drops to his knees in front of her. Hot and heavy hands slide up her thighs to push up her robe. Transfixed by the sight and hating herself for it, the Doctor undoes the knot holding it together, lets him slide it off her until they’re bare together. Until she’s bare for him. 

Oh, she hates how much she needs this. 

Soft lips kiss up her inner thigh as he holds her hips. “Spread your legs for me, love,” he tells her gently, a mockery, but she does, exhaling a shaky sigh and closing her eyes. The Master tuts at her. “Oh no, you’ll want to watch this.” 

It’s fairly clear he’s not giving her friendly advice. 

His grin is Cheshire-wide when she looks at him again, but she has no time to say anything before he fits his mouth over her cunt and licks a broad sweep up the length of it. The Doctor curses out at the pleasure of it, the hot wetness of his tongue as it presses between her folds, tastes her before settling on her clit. He plays her like the drums in his head, licks in slow, hard-pressing circles over it until she’s moaning out and tangling her fingers in his hair to keep him where he is. The Master hums against her, the vibrations making her fuck against his tongue, which in turn makes his beard chafe perfectly against the sensitive skin. 

All these new sensations give her a very profound understanding of what, exactly, all the fuss is about. 

Damn him. 

Like the virgin she supposes she is, once again, she can already feel pleasure coiling in her gut but she holds it off, grits her teeth as he moves from her clit to lick into her entrance. His tongue presses inside her, feels way longer than it should. Despite his own words to her, the Master’s eyes are closed in something that looks like bliss as he tastes her, curls in her with his cold nose nudging against her clit with every thrust. Her mother tongue spills out of her, the foulest words and phrases she knows as she rides his face in her own console room. It’s a wonder she’s still standing but she won’t let herself fall. Not again. 

When he circles back to her clit, his mouth closes over it and sucks deeply, teeth ever-so-slightly scraping the sides. His hands move possessively, slowly up from her hips to cup her breasts and roll her nipples, and from that she has no choice at all but to come. Yelling out his name, the Doctor finally closes her eyes as she shakes and arches for him, head thunking back against the pillar as she pulls the Master’s hair. The pleasure is white-hot and blinding in its intensity and when it’s done rolling through her, well. 

She’s fallen after all. 

The Doctor finds herself on her back on the floor, with the Master hovering over her and smiling madly. He leans down and kisses her, forces the taste of her own cunt into her mouth, and she hates how it makes her moan and lean up into it. She expects this is it, and spreads her legs accordingly for him. His cock is bigger than his blonde days, curved up and throbbing with want, and despite her orgasm she aches for it to stretch her. She hopes, one of these days, she won’t want the Master like this anymore. She doesn’t see that happening any time soon. 

“Not yet,” the Master murmurs, kissing away from her mouth to trail along her jaw, to her ear. He nips at the skin just under it until she jolts. “Must open you up first, hmm? Wouldn’t want to /ever/ cause you pain, after all,” he mocks, laughing a little at his own joke, and she hates him in that moment. She should push him away, fight him off until he’s left hard and alone, but she doesn’t. She won’t. 

“How /generous/ of you,” she bites out. It doesn’t carry much weight with how breathless and wrecked she already sounds, but it’s the thought that counts. Hopefully. He merely laughs and reaches down, supporting himself on his forearm beside her head, and presses two fingers into her entrance, obviously delighting in the resulting hiss she exhales from the painful stretch. “You…people usually start with one,” the Doctor grits out. She fists one hand back into the Master’s hair and tugs as she feels her body adjust, feels a thrill when he moans a little at the pain in his scalp. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” the Master asks, biting savagely at her earlobe and making her grunt before soothing it with that tongue of his. His fingers start a slow, deep rhythm in her, twisting as they fuck her open. The pain ebbs into pleasure and she flushes at the obvious new wetness that floods around his fingers. They squelch obscenely with each thrust but surprisingly, the Master makes no comment about it, his breath hot and heavy in her ear. She feels the heaviness of his cock against her thigh and she realizes he’s as wrecked as she is. It gives her a little thrill of power. 

She scrapes her nails over the nape of his neck, notes the shiver it sends through him as her other hand smooths down his back. “Y’like this?” she forces out, like she’s not the one moaning broken and high with every perfect thrust. “Y’like getting me ready for you, stretching me open to take your cock?” The Doctor’s never been one to talk like this but the Master always brings out the filthiest, most depraved parts of her. She lets herself grin. “Y’like…pretending this makes you a top?” 

He growls in response and he forces another finger into her, moving them fast and hard and sudden until she’s arching under him and moaning raggedly at the punching pleasure it forces from her. “/Don’t/ egg me on,” he hisses, lifting his head to press their foreheads together, his eyes boring into hers. “Don’t make me angry,” as his thumb presses harshly into her clit, the sudden change of pace sending her hurtling towards the edge /again/ even as oversensitivity still rides the border of pain. “You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.” 

Anything she could’ve said back dies on her tongue as she grinds helplessly onto his fingers, keening and chanting little “ah, ah, ah”’s until the pleasure snaps once more and shakes through her veins, through her fingers and toes and her very scalp as she comes for him again. 

He gives her a minute, this time. Both of them pant together, his fingers still inside her and his cock now leaking a sticky puddle against her thigh. In the back of her mind she realizes he now has the ability to knock her up, and she resolves to take a contraceptive once they’re finished here. 

Once she can breathe again, mostly, she can’t help the slow grin from spreading over her lips as she looks up at him. “Did you - /really/ - quote The Hulk while you were finger-fucking me?” 

His mouth opens and closes wordlessly because he is very much caught, before he smiles something almost bashful. “It worked in the moment,” he admits. The two of them giggle together like children and it reminds her of something lost long ago, aching bittersweet in her hearts. When they sober up, foreheads still pressed together, the Master just tilts his head and meets her mouth and it’s almost, almost like coming home. 

The heat builds again between them, the Doctor moaning lightly into his mouth when the Master’s fingers start moving in her again. They twist and spread with real purpose this time until she’s reaching down to push them out of her, her calf hooking over his to draw him closer. “Stop teasing,” she gasps out and he laughs, bites sharply on her shoulder until she jerks and groans at him. He grabs his cock, pulls back from her mouth to smirk down at her.

“Ready?”

“What do you th—/oh/,” she sighs, eyes fluttering and head leaning back against the floor as he enters her. He takes it slow like he’s trying to torment her, stretching and filling every inch of her cunt, and he bows his head until his forehead is on her clavicle when he bottoms out. She lifts her head and sees how his shoulders quiver with tension so she rubs her hands over them. It feels, for an endless moment, so unbelievably intimate that her eyes briefly sting with tears. 

And then the tenderness passes. 

Before the sting of entry can completely abate, the Master pulls his cock almost completely from her before thrusting back in. She digs her nails into his skin when he repeats the action, rough and brutal in its precision. It hurts and her nerves sing for it. The Doctor wraps her legs around his hips, tangle them as much as she can as he picks up pace, nearly sliding her along the floor with the force of it. 

“/Gods/, you’re tight,” he growls out, panting hotly. “So - /uh/ - tight and wet for me, aren’t you?”

“Sh-shut up, shut up and - /harder/,” she orders, raking her nails down his back now to grasp his arse and slam him deeper into her. He moans out like he’s the one getting fucked and lifts himself up, kneeling between her legs for better leverage. The change in angle is deliriously perfect and she cries out with it, rolling her hips with his. “Ah, /ah/, that’s it…”

“Yeah? Y’like that?” he taunts, throwing her earlier words back at her. Glaring murderously (in theory), the Doctor tries not to give him the satisfaction of a response, but oh, she feels each thrust like it’s in her guts and it makes her head spin. “How - how many times have you fucked me like this, Doctor?” the Master purrs, his eyes dark with hunger as he watches her move from him, watches how her breasts bounce and how she bites her lip at the memories. 

“Don’t recall…you complainin’,” she replies airily. She acutely remembers each and every instance, from slow love-making on her velvet suit to holding him down by his throat while he was Prime Minister and couldn’t resist aging her back up for the night. It makes her clench around him now and his hips stutter slightly, but he just laughs. 

“This isn’t a /punishment/, my love,” the Master whispers back, hips momentarily slowing in their rhythm to a slow, absolutely filthy grind that has her arching and whining for more. The words stick with her still. Suddenly, this whole encounter feels different. She tightens her legs around him and rolls her hips, knows how it must look, and when she sees the way he watches her she knows she’s got it right. The pad of the Master’s thumb is suddenly on her clit and she flinches from it, hissing at the double-oversensitivity that spikes through her. “Oh no, I’m not done yet,” he tells her darkly. “You’ve got two more in you, I think.”

“I - ah, ah,” her thoughts are derailed briefly when he picks up the pace again, massaging her clit in figure eights as he does, “…beg to-to differ.” 

“Guess we’ll see.” 

Despite the sharp edge of discomfort, she can feel the pleasure building in her again, syrupy and hot until she’s clutching him closer and begging him not to stop. He fucks her faster, doubles over her as their skin slapping together echoes throughout the room. He’s grunting in her ear with every thrust, moaning when she clenches around him. It barely takes another minute for her to come and this time, this time, he fucks her through it while she convulses through the pleasure and curls her toes into the floor, almost sobbing at the sensations flooding her system. 

The Doctor barely has time to breathe before the Master pulls out of her roughly and rolls her onto her stomach, pinning her there by the back of her neck in another echo of how they used to be as he mounts her. It feels almost demeaning like this, like she’s just some bitch to be fucked, and she hates how much she loves it. An almost animalistic snarl leaves her when he starts moving his hips in earnest again but it ends in a high, reedy moan when the nails of his other hand dig into her arse cheek. 

“That’s it, that’s it,” the Master chants mindlessly. He must be getting close, she thinks. His thrusts are losing their rhythm even as he aims for that spot inside of her with single-minded focus, making her fuck back onto his cock in a desperate search for more. It feels like the pleasure won’t stop, like this white-hot need lancing through her is her new normal as it steals the air from her lungs with every brutal push. “One more, love, give me one more…” 

The floor of the TARDIS is blessedly cool against the Doctor’s forehead as she presses against it, most of her weight on her knees and forearms (which will all surely be bruised when this is over) as he holds her down. The Master knocks one of her knees off balance to hike it up, slide in even deeper and she almost wails with it. His hand moves from her neck to knot into her hair and /pull/, arching her head off the ground and oh, she doesn’t think she’ll need a hand on her clit this time. This final time, it’s hurling towards her, almost visible in its inevitability. It hurts but she wants that hurt, craves it like nothing else. 

In a last ditch attempt to even the playing field, the Doctor throws open her mind to the Master, lets him feel everything he wrings from her in real time. His voice is hoarse when he yells out but in their minds he simply returns the favor, makes her feel the tight heat of her own cunt around his cock. 

This final time, the Doctor and the Master come together, voices cracking in unison on each other’s names as they fall apart. 

Her hearts beat so quickly she’s almost worried they’ll give out. It’s the first thought she has when her mind returns to her. The second thought is that the Master is /heavy/, slumped over her back the way he is. “Off,” she mumbles weightlessly, giving the barest effort to nudge him. He grumbles nonsensically and pulls out (she grimaces at the rush of warm that follows and leaks onto the floor), laying next to her on his back. 

They stare at each other for long, silent moments. The Master reaches out and touches her cheek, just lightly, just for a moment. She rolls onto her side to face him properly. “…D’you really do everything you do just to get my attention?” she asks, trying her best to keep any judgement from coloring her tone. He huffs out a little laugh and shrugs.

“It works, doesn’t it?” 

“Master,” the Doctor sighs, eyes closing for a moment as she shakes her head. When she opens them again, the Master’s not smiling anymore. She reaches out and takes his hand anyways. “You know we’re… married, right? If you want my attention…just come /home/.” 

He drops her hand and she doesn’t let him see that it hurts her. There was a time when he would’ve held it for hours if she’d let him. “Maybe next time,” he whispers, and then he’s up. She watches him dress tiredly, sitting up and embracing her knees to her chest as she does. He tosses her robe to her and she catches it one-handedly but doesn’t bother to put it on. When he’s at the TARDIS’ door, he turns back, flashes her a crooked smile. “This was fun,” he says. “But I think you might need another shower.” 

And then, as always and once again, he’s gone.

And she is alone.


End file.
